Downton Abbey: The Black Armoire
by lupinskitten
Summary: Moving an old piece of furniture stirs up forgotten ghosts in Downton and brings to the surface memories that Mrs. Hughes and Carson would rather be forgotten. No spoilers beyond episode one; an ensemble piece with all characters involved.
1. Chapter 1

_The Black Armoire_

There was nothing Thomas liked more on a cold autumn morning than a cigarette in the yard. He would stand with his back against the wall and blow smoke into the air, his attention wandering from the movement in the stables to the constant parade of maids traipsing in and out of the kitchen. In their somber black uniforms they reminded him of sparrows casting him disapproving glances. Most of them hated him but Daisy was the exception, watching him with adoring eyes and never knowing that her attempts to please him were in vain, for he was not inclined in that direction. He wouldn't have encouraged it except that it was apparent William fancied her and it alleviated his constant boredom to cause trouble. Thomas couldn't get away with much, but what little he did granted him great pleasure and amusement… and there was precious little to be had in this house.

It helped that Daisy was an unpardonable dunce, easy to manipulate and even easier to confound; she had a look about her at times as she tried to work things out in her head that made it apparent she had no idea what he meant. Not that she got much empathy for it from Mrs. Patmore. The old woman was quick with her tongue and Daisy's first few weeks had been spent crying in the back hall when she thought no one was looking. It was in her best interest that she had a certain amount of fear for the cook, but she had taken the chastising more to heart than the others. Anna had done her best to comfort her, and even the restrained Mrs. Hughes had given her a kind word or two, but the girl had to grow up and learn the world was a nasty place sooner or later. And as far as Thomas was concerned, it might as well be sooner.

The previous evening had seen more excitement than was customary for the servants' quarters, for Lady Cora had come downstairs to inform them that she had seen an armoire in the east wing that liked and asked that it be moved to her sitting room. The announcement had left most of the servants in shock, for no one could remember the last time anything had been moved. The Countess had kept it all as her mother-in-law had kept it and apart from the odd end table here and there, nothing had changed in a hundred years other than the installation of the electric lights and a telephone. Thomas and William were to see to it that very morning and neither of them looked forward to it, although William would never say a word. He bore unpleasantness in silence, but that was not Thomas' manner and as he considered the tedious task ahead of him, he scowled.

"As if we haven't got anything better to do," he complained, and flicked his cigarette into the courtyard. It landed in a puddle as he returned to the house, shaking off the cold. Having watched for him out the window for the better part of a quarter hour, Daisy smiled at him when he came in but he was too irritated to look at her as he crossed the room. Her expression revealed disappointment and Mrs. Patmore shook her head, knowing it was useless to give the girl any more hints that Thomas would never like her in that way. She would simply have to let the girl find out the truth on her own, and hope Thomas did not hurt her too much in the meantime. "Daisy!" she snapped and the girl returned to her task of gathering up her broom and dustbin. Since the east wing was never used, there was bound to be some cleaning to do and with Anna and Gwen busy upstairs, the task fell to her.

Carson led the way with Daisy bringing up the rear, nearly tripping over her dust bucket as she craned her neck to look around her. It was rare she was above stairs and as he took them into the east wing, a touch of awe surfaced in her voice. "I haven't ever been in this part of the house before!"

"Nor are you likely to be again," said the butler with a note of finality. It was not unpleasant, merely the truth. Her eye caught William's as he glanced at her and she flushed, ducking her head as she remembered that Mrs. Hughes had told her to be "seen and not heard" whenever she was above stairs. It was a hard thing to remember at the best of times but she was quiet as they traipsed along the hall and entered a dark room with most of the furniture covered in sheets. Carson opened the draperies and light flooded into the space, abating the gloom and permitting them to see the armoire in question. Formed from a rich, dark wood and beautifully carved, it was striking against the faded paper in the background.

Thomas sighed. How predictable of her to want _that _particular piece of furniture, the heaviest, oldest, biggest armoire in the house, with no concern for the backs of the men who would have to move it. In a week she would no doubt decide she didn't care for it after all and they would have to repeat the process. His face revealing none of his annoyance, although it was plainly expressed in his mannerisms as he approached, Thomas pulled one end away from the wall. It was as heavy as it looked and would be a bear to haul to the other end of the house. Even though he knew saying anything would earn him disapproval he muttered, "Seems this was a good enough spot for it when the Countess was in residence, I don't see why it's not good enough now."

For once the butler agreed with him but would never give him the satisfaction of knowing. In his usual deep and disapproving manner he said sharply, "Never mind that, Thomas, and do what you're told."

Sharing a meaningful glance with William, who shared his despair, Thomas slid out the armoire further from the wall to reveal a nest of dust bunnies and cobwebs.

Daisy was drawn to the enormous fireplace, which took up half of one wall and was covered in scrollwork. The mirror above it was tarnished but still cast a reflection and her skin tingled as she stared at it. She had a feeling that something bad had happened in this room. Her mother had once said she had keen instincts, but she had not paid them much mind until now. In spite of the grunting of the footmen and Carson warning them to be careful not to scratch the floor, she could hear a faint sound up the chimney but as she peered into it, she could see nothing but a pinprick of light far above. "Mr. Carson," she asked timidly, "whose room was this?"

"I don't see how that is any of your concern," he answered, and watched as the armoire reached the carpet.

Knowing this was getting them nowhere, Thomas asked, "Can't we just pull it along on the carpet, Mr. Carson?"

"I should say not!" Carson was indignant at the mere thought of it.

The sounds continued. Daisy stared at the hearth, finding it more unnerving the longer she looked at it.

"You don't know how heavy it is… _sir_."

"That doesn't matter! We're to move it and move it we shall, _without _compromising the dignity of the house!"

Soot filtered down the chimney and Daisy felt a shiver pass over her in spite of the warmth of the sunlight.

"I'd be more than willing to sacrifice the dignity of the house if it meant not breaking my back, Mr. Carson."

From the shadow of the armoire, William did not attempt to include his opinion. He had never particularly cared for Thomas but on this occasion had to admit he was not looking forward to moving the beast across the main hall and up a flight of stairs. His attention turned to Daisy and he saw unease build in her until she turned and said, "Maybe we oughtn't to move it, Mr. Carson."

Three faces stared at her and she suddenly felt very small. Carson rarely had much to do with her and as such had more compassion than most, since he was rarely around when she dropped or broke anything. Her earnest and fearful expression gave him pause and trying to keep irritation out of his voice, he asked, "And why is that, Daisy?"

She hesitated. All her senses were tingling, from the tip of her toes to the top of her head. Daisy did not like this room and wondered how none of them felt it. She did not know what it was but had the feeling a bad memory was among them, watching them, slightly angered by the disturbance. Her voice was small but insistent as she said, "It _belongs_ here. It wouldn't be right to move it."

"So you think we might waken a ghost, is that it?" Thomas sneered at her and she wavered as she looked at him.

Carson was not in the mood for foolishness. One of his dark brows arched heavenward and in a humorless tone he asked, "Have you been reading those dreadful magazines again?"

"Which magazines would those be, Mr. Carson?" she asked softly, thinking of the one she had in her room. It had been stuffed under her mattress that very morning, though she'd been afraid to turn her back on it when she had come downstairs.

The brow lowered and he gave her a _look_. "You know which ones I mean."

Never mind that Thomas was the one giving them to her, or that Anna snitched them when Daisy was done and the maids sat up at night reading them until they were too scared to blow out the candle, or that Mrs. Hughes had confiscated the last lot and put them in the stove. Morbid, sordid stories of ghosts and vampires were popular and wide-eyed Daisy was easily influenced by them, which was why Carson suspected Thomas had started leaving them around in the first place. Daisy squirmed under his gaze and knowing he was not about to get an answer out of her, Carson said, "I assure you, there is no wandering spirit locked in this room that might disapprove of an item of furniture being moved from one place to the next. This is Downton! No ghost would dare set foot in it!"

And that was when the fireplace exploded.

Debris rained down, soot pouring out and causing a great cloud of smoke. It was too much for Daisy, who shrieked, dropped her broom and dustpan, and bolted; even encountering Mrs. Hughes coming up the corridor did not slow her down. The footmen stumbled out into the hall coughing violently and Carson made his way across the room to open a window, the rush of cold air a welcome relief from the dead cinders. Mrs. Hughes quickened her pace and gasped when she rounded the doorway and saw the mess. The cloud was settling around them, leaving a fresh layer of soot on everything. Her mouth opened but no sound came out and Carson asked, "When was the last time we had the chimneys on this side of the house properly cleaned?"

As he made his way across the room, Mrs. Hughes shook her head. "Not for a few years, but it shouldn't have been as bad as this! Where is Daisy off to?"

"The kitchens; she's convinced the place is haunted," Thomas answered.

Mrs. Hughes gave him a withering look. "She _wouldn't _think that if you hadn't started it."

"I can't help leaving things around, now can I? It was she who nicked it from me first."

Brushing off his coat, Thomas turned his back on her and Mrs. Hughes put her annoyance with him aside. "Let the maids attend to it. Lady Grantham will have to wait for her armoire, though it won't please her. And try not to track it all through the house," she added as the footmen started off. Thomas said nothing but sent her a glance that revealed his thoughts as she returned her attention to Carson. She had never seen him looking worse. He was rarely in such a state and it was obvious he deeply resented her seeing him in one. Though she fought to keep her amusement out of her countenance, it crept through and he drew himself up with a certain amount of wounded pride. Mustering as much dignity as he could under the circumstances, Carson went on his way.

Entering the room in his absence, Mrs. Hughes opened several more windows and went to the hearth, where she found the remains of a nest that had fallen down the chimney. Convinced there was nothing unusual about it, she went downstairs to the main hall. It was customary for such things to be reported to the lady of the house, for since her arrival she had informed the help that she was to be kept appraised of even that which did not directly concern her. Mrs. Hughes had been present when Cora had first set foot in Downton, an eager bride faced with a formidable and disapproving mother in law and a great old country estate that needed her money as much as it needed her husband's considerable influence. While it had taken them awhile to become accustomed to her, Cora had swiftly won over the housekeeper merely by means of empathy, for she had been outnumbered and in need of allies.

The women were gathered in the drawing room and Lady Grantham was in attendance, having driven up from town to see her son and continue to pursue the matter of the inheritance. It never did any good but she and Cora were united in their determination that the money should not go to Matthew no matter how fond they were of him. It was not the topic of conversation when Mrs. Hughes entered and she leaned down to inform Cora of recent events as Sybil and Edith continued to argue about the state of the grounds. Mary was staring out at her father and Matthew as they walked the green, the dog with them. The autumn light made his hair blonder than usual and she felt a strange attraction to him that she almost found repugnant. Everyone thought it would be lovely if she and he were married; that way the estate and the inheritance would still come to her as the rightful heir. She had fought it from their first meeting. Mary did not much care to be told what to do and it pained her that she was forced to admit he was not the sea monster she had first taken him for. Rather annoyed with the nature of her thoughts, she turned her head as the housekeeper went out and asked, "What was that about?"

"It seems one of the kitchen maids has a vivid imagination. I asked Carson to see to it that an armoire was moved from the east wing and the poor girl was frightened when a nest fell down the chimney and startled them all. It caused quite a fuss and now the room will have to be cleaned before they can move it." Cora accepted the cup of tea Anna offered to her and cast her blue eyes in the direction of the lawn. "Robert is fond of Isis, isn't he? I wonder that the poor creature isn't getting fat with all the food he is given."

The diversion did not work, for all her mother in law had heard was what struck her with the most horror. In her hand was a delicate Victorian teacup and while she took care not to set it down too sharply on the saucer, it still drew their attention as she said, "Excuse me, Cora, dear, but did you just say you are _moving _a piece of furniture?"

Sybil looked from one to the other knowing an argument was about to start and sat slightly back in her chair. Having experienced the burning disapproval of the woman many times in the past, Cora answered with trepidation "I found a wonderful armoire in the east wing yesterday and wanted it placed in my sitting room. I do not see any reason why it should remain where no one can ever see it."

"I do, if that's where it belongs!" snorted Violet. "What's wrong with the armoire in your sitting room _now_?"

Her pleasant expression wavering, Cora answered, "Nothing, but I should like a change."

"You should like a change? How very American of you," said the older woman; "I suppose it has not occurred to you that Carson and the footman will be forced to _move_ the armoire from one end of the house to the other? Dear me, it does seem like such an aimless task."

Cora sat down her teacup and crossed her hands in her lap. "It is not aimless since my sitting room is where I want it. Seeing as I am the Lady of the House, I do not see why I should not have _my_ furniture where I would like it, since without my money there would be no Downton at all."

Before the argument could escalate further, for she sensed her sputtering grandmother was about to explode, Edith asked, "Was that what all the fuss was about upstairs? As I was coming down I met one of the kitchen girls on the stairs running as if the very devil were on her heels… or possibly Mrs. Hughes."

In spite of herself, Sybil giggled and their grandmother sent them both a warning look. "Mrs. Hughes is one of the finest housekeepers we have ever had at Downton, and it would do you well to remember it."

"She was rather good at frightening us out of the kitchen when we were children," remarked Mary. "But what did she mean about the maid, did she think the room was haunted?"

Resting her hand on her silver walking stick, Violet snorted, "What an idea, Downton, haunted?" She chuckled.

"I wish it were," said Sybil with enthusiasm. "I should like that, to live in a haunted house."

"Well, I shouldn't!" Edith stared at her.

Sunlight drifted in between them, taking on a different hue as clouds crept in from the east. Her blue eyes luminous with excitement, Sybil said, "I should think this would be a proper house for haunting! Has no one ever died here? Other than Mr. Pamuk, I mean, and if he were going to haunt anyone, it should be Mary."

Behind them Anna very nearly dropped the sugar tongs and Cora almost choked on her tea. Though caught off guard, Mary recovered rapidly and with a smile said, "If he _is _haunting me, I haven't seen him. But there have been others die in this house, haven't there?" She got up and walked her cup back to the tray, exchanging a meaningful glance with Anna as conversation resumed in the background.

"Any old house is bound to have had its fair share of tragedies but there have never been ghosts at Downton."

Reaching the window, Mary stared out at the coming storm as memories of Pamuk returned, his death and the horror at having it happen in her room. But the mention of ghosts had brought another memory to mind, so old it difficult for her to sort out. She clearly remembered standing on the landing of the servant staircase and trying to see down at the foot of it, but Mrs. Hughes had quickly intervened. It was unusual for the woman to be upset, but on that occasion there had been a tremor in her voice as she had sent Mary away.

In the distance, she heard Sybil say, "That settles it then. When I die, I will have to haunt Downton!"

Mary came around to find Anna looking at her curiously. Such a different array of expressions had come over her face that Anna was unnerved by them. Quietly, she asked, "Are you all right, my lady?"

She remembered that it had been a scream that had drawn her to the stairs and nodded.

The far door opened and the men joined them, rosy from their walk. Isis lay at their feet and Matthew sat in the chair nearest her as she returned to the divan, Mary exchanging a smile with him before she looked away again, smoothing down her skirt and trying to beat her happiness into submission. She would not love Matthew, because it was what all of them wanted and she had never given anyone what they wanted. Conversation resumed as Lord Grantham inquired what they had been speaking of and remarked on the current state of affairs. Having gathered up the tea service, Anna carried it downstairs, passing Bates in the hall. She had liked him from the start but of late their interactions had changed, becoming more comfortable even though neither of them acknowledged it. He would arrange to sit near her when she was sewing and she knew it was because he liked her.

Warmth crept through her cheeks as she went on, repressing the urge to turn and glance back at him. Her arrival below stairs was met with Mrs. Hughes reminding Daisy that going upstairs was a privilege and she was not to behave foolishly again. Passing them and delivering the tray to the sideboard in the kitchen Anna shook her head and Gwen made a face, both of them glad not to be on the receiving end of the chastisement.

Hanging her head, Daisy said, "Yes, Mrs. Hughes, it won't happen again."

Knowing there was more to that sentence than had been said, Mrs. Hughes said, "But…?"

"But I _felt _it. There was someone in that room with us, and it weren't Thomas or William!"

"It was a raven up the chimney. It dislodged a nest and it fell, that is all."

Daisy was adamant. "Begging your pardon, but it wasn't! I know it wasn't!"

Feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on, Mrs. Hughes repressed a sigh. "Daisy, you are not to go stampeding through the house again, _ever_. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Ma'am," answered the kitchen maid in a tiny voice.

Branson had been peering around the doorway and now pulled his head back into the room, settling into his chair. As Gwen entered in search of her sewing box, he said, "In Ireland no one would think much of it. We are more than content to believe in ghosts and goblins there. I guess the English are too proper for it, eh?"

"You say that as if you look down on us for it."

He shrugged. "_Your _lot looks down on _us_."

Black skirts brought Mrs. Hughes to the door. "Gwen, make a cup of tea and take it to my office, please."

At her acknowledgment, the housekeeper followed the winding stairs to the attics, gloom closing in around her as she went to the far end and the room Daisy shared with the other kitchen maids. It was small and bare but the corner Daisy occupied was discernable by the sketches and clippings pinned to the wall. Barely noticing them, Mrs. Hughes surveyed the bed and small bureau with a discerning eye and felt beneath the mattress. It did not take her long to find the magazine shoved in as far as the girl could reach. They sold for a few cents each in the village store and beneath the lurid cover were equally sordid tales of crimes and kidnappings intended to frighten naïve girls. This one promised "extraordinary tales of woe and bloodshed," and she carried it downstairs and opened the stove, only to pause. Though not one to indulge in fanciful stories, Mrs. Hughes was curious just what it was about the publication that the maids found so enticing.

It was about this time that Mr. Carson resurfaced, having changed into fresh attire.

"Lady Grantham is staying for dinner," said Anna as she passed and he nodded.

The maids were dispatched to clean up the mess and Mrs. Hughes insisted Daisy go along to tidy the hearth as well as face her fears. When she entered, Anna could understand why the room had given the girl unease, as the sheet-covered furniture lent itself to images of ghosts. But were it not for their presence the job would have been more difficult and she was grateful for them as she and Gwen pulled them down carefully. It would leave only the bed, carpet, and floorboards to be cleaned. The windows were still open and the air had cleared, leaving the space colder than usual. The sheets would have be laundered and put up again, protecting the furniture from the sunlight.

Daisy hovered on the threshold, shifting from one foot to the other until Anna told her not to be idle; reluctantly, she tiptoed to the hearth and began sweeping the debris into the dustbin. When the silence became unbearable, Gwen asked, "What happened to you in here, Daisy?"

"I don't know. I just sort of _felt_ that something bad had happened in here, no matter what Mr. Carson says." Daisy set her mouth in a grim line and continued to brush the hearth, ignorant of the look the maids exchanged behind her back.

It did not take long to gather the sheets and carry them away but rolling up the carpet proved more difficult. Carson had sent Thomas and William along and with their help they carried it outside and hung it over the branch of a nearby tree. Carpet beating was one of Anna's least-favorite tasks but on this occasion it was almost calming, the sound of the beaters whistling through the sharp cold air as Gwen assisted her. Tuffs of black arose and drifted away, the skies becoming murky as a storm moved in. It would be raining in a few hours.

Bearing the carpet back indoors and unfurling it in its proper place, Thomas and William then faced the task of moving the armoire. It was early afternoon and the windows were shut by Anna moments before large drops of rain hit them, spattering ominously against the glass.

"I know you don't fancy the idea of dragging the carpet, Mr. Carson," said Thomas, "but I don't see how we've got much choice. We can wrestle it down the hall and risk scratching the floor, what with it being so heavy, or we can put it on the carpet and slide it in half the time, with only a flight of stairs in-between."

Normally Carson would have said no but under the circumstances and as fed up as he was with the situation, he conceded with the provision that nothing get broken in the midst of this endeavor. Maneuvering the heavy piece of furniture onto the carpet proved a tedious business but when certain it would not tip over, Thomas and William grasped it and pulled. It inched forward, the armoire rocking slightly with the momentum. Dragging it out into the hall proved difficult, as the carpet was too cumbersome to accommodate them properly. After nearly crushing his fingers and bashing his shoulder into the wall, Thomas complained, "I don't see why we don't have a proper dolly."

In no better humor than the footman was, Carson barked, "For the simple reason that we have never _needed_ one! Their lot isn't accustomed to _buying _or _moving _furniture!"

Once in the hall it went easier and there was a fair stretch where there was not much complaining. Mary leaned against the banister to watch, her fingers entwined in the strand of pearls around her neck. Her amusement was apparent as Carson warned them to watch the oil painting… and the hall table… and the tapestries. Staring down at them from above, she did not move until Edith came up behind her and with mild interest asked, "What's this?"

"This is a perfect example of Mother being American," answered Mary, and left her there.

In spite of not having ventured into the servants' quarters since the duke had brought her there, the memory of the incident on the stairs led her to the door into the attics. She remembered it well from childhood when she had been fascinated by the goings-on of the lower class. The kitchens had been a constant bustle of activity, Mrs. Patmore giving her whatever she happened to have fixed off the sideboard. Her fingers full of cookies or apple tarts Mary had crept into a corner out of sight and listened in on the conversation of the housemaids, the comforting tones of Carson bringing a sense of security and happiness. Echoes of the past lingered in the present as she pushed open the door and stepped into the gloomy space. It was no different from how she remembered it, just as bare and dismal as it had ever been, but she heard contented voices flowing up from downstairs. She would never intrude on them or invade their privacy again, but she wanted to remember and approached the stairs tentatively, trying to recall that day. It had been raining and shadows had lurked in the upper rooms. She could remember the scream and the sight of fingertips clutching at the wall as the young woman had fallen out of sight.

Mary touched the wall, a shudder passing over her. It was eerie to stand there and search the past, remembering Mrs. Hughes and her intervention, her swiftness in making certain she saw nothing to upset her. It was the one time the housekeeper had been impatient with her, dragging her down the hall away from the concerned voices and ejecting her unceremoniously from the servants' quarters. Sensing she was no longer alone, her hand fell and she looked around to find the woman behind her. Mrs. Hughes had seen the look on her face and had no intention of disturbing her, remaining in the shadows until she was acknowledged. Feeling as if she had been caught, Mary said, "There you are. I was wondering if you might have the maids make up the green room. Evelyn never intends to stay but I rather think he will."

Shadows crept around them and the sound of the rain on the roof was comforting. Mrs. Hughes sensed this was not her reason for being there but did not question it. "Certainly, will that be all?"

"Yes." Mary indicated her desire to leave and the housekeeper moved out of her way, watching her retreat. Her eyes darkened with concern and she descended into the kitchen.


	2. Chapter 2

The dog was in his usual place beneath the table, watching the girls as they prepared dinner and threw him occasional scraps. It was half past three and the rest of the afternoon was spent in various forms of occupation until it was time for the family to dress for dinner. Anna devoted her time to Mary and Edith while Gwen attended Sybil, and they went up on the heels of O'Brien, who said not a word to them as she passed Thomas and William in the hall. "Bloody furniture," Thomas muttered under his breath and she entered to find the cumbersome armoire where her ladyship had wanted it.

Electric lights flickered overhead and maids entered different rooms, finding their ladies waiting for them. Edith was quiet and self-contained, prepared to listen if needed but not welcoming much confidence from the servants. She was particular and thought she would not admit it, self-conscious about being the plainest of her sisters. There was a tremor in her hands as she pulled on her gloves, her eyes darting to the mirror as Anna tidied her hair. Social functions were difficult for her, as she was always outshone by Mary. She wanted to be useful, to be the center of attention, but never quite managed it and instead had to suffer in silence. Thanking Anna for her attentiveness, she dismissed the maid, who crossed the hall and knocked before going in, causing Mary to glance up from her book.

Putting it aside and standing up so her gown could be unbuttoned, she said, "Books are dull when compared to real life." Turning her head slightly, she stared at the bed, lost in thought and regret as she wondered if Pamuk was inclined to haunt her. Carrying his body down the hall with her mother and Anna was a memory she would not soon forget and one she hoped would never reach beyond the walls of Downton. She stepped out of her gown and Anna laid it aside, reaching for another. As it was lowered over her head Mary said, "You know this house better than most, Anna… have you ever seen anything unusual?"

Anna sensed genuine curiosity as she buttoned the gown and smoothed the lace. "I'm not as fanciful as Daisy, but at times there is something a bit odd about the dark. One never knows who lurks in the shadows."

Sitting at her vanity, Mary pulled on her gloves as thunder rumbled in the background. "This morning when you asked if I was all right I was thinking on when I was a child. I seem to remember something but cannot be certain if it actually happened. Do you know anything about a maid falling down the stairs?"

The lamps flickered beneath the influence of the storm. Anna picked up the dress and hung it in the wardrobe. "I hadn't heard anything about it, but if you like, we could ask Mrs. Hughes."

"Oh, I'm not _that_ interested," Mary assured her with rather more disinterest than was needed. She intentionally avoided the young woman's gaze and was relieved when Sybil intruded, lovelier than usual in her favorite violet gown. Perching on the end of the bed, she watched as the finishing touches were put on her sister's hair and they went down together.

In their absence the room felt unusually quiet and even dreary, the glow of the lamps casting shadows in the far corners. The rain was coming down hard a light appeared through the downpour, indicating an approaching car. Opening the vanity drawer and returning everything Mary had taken out, Anna straightened the bottles of perfume and went down the hall, intending to take the shorter route through the servants' stairs into the kitchens. But when she left the harsh electric light of the corridor and passed into the gloom of the attic stairs the hair on the back of her neck began to tingle. Carrying the slip she would need to wash out and hang up that evening over one arm, she paused and glanced behind her but saw no one. As her eyes adjusted to the lack of light, she tried to convince herself it was just her imagination. Her foot was on the top step when she heard a creak behind her and asked, "Who is it?" with more fear than she intended. There was no answer and heart pounding, she turned and collided with Thomas, who was on his way up.

Scowling at her, he asked, "What's the matter with you?" and continued the way she had come.

Dinner kept the servants busy, their duties lapsing when it came time for the family to take tea in the drawing room. In the lower quarters, Daisy scrambled to bring in the soup and once everyone was seated Carson dished it up, each eating in haste knowing any of them might be summoned. The family was more amiable than most but as needy as any other in a country house and there was never a moment to waste below stairs. Anna reached for the rolls at the same time as Bates and the touch of her hand sent a rush of excitement through him. He had tried not to give her much thought, knowing that he could never have her, but he found her irresistible. Without a word, he offered her first choice and his heart warmed in the wake of her smile.

Across the table, O'Brien gave them a look of disgust that went unnoticed. The lights flickered again.

"I'll fetch some lamps, Mr. Carson, shall I?" asked William, pushing his chair back from the table.

"Yes, take them up to the drawing room, but leave one in the main hall. One never knows."

Fetching them from the hall cupboard, William entered the drawing room quietly, his presence unnoticed by the occupants. Lady Violet was as far from Isobel as possible, deep in a meaningful conversation with her son. She had not given up her intention of convincing him to fight for his eldest daughter's rightful inheritance and was convinced that in time she would wear him down. He was in a better mood than usual and listened to her with his customary patience, now and again his attention wandering to Matthew, who was very attentive to Mary. Edith and her mother were at the piano and the rest were passing about a book and remarking on it. William had not been there more than a moment before the power went out, the room reduced to the light from the oil lamp as he sat it on the near table. They had not long to wait before Carson appeared and assisted him in placing further light around the room until it was bright enough for them to continue in their activities.

"I remember a time when Downton was completely lit with oil lamps," remarked Lady Violet, "and before that, candles! It is much preferable to those ghastly electric lights."

"Though somewhat harder on your eyes," remarked Mary wryly as she got up to put the book away. Matthew's gaze followed her, much to the disappointment of Edith, who sighed and looked away.

Sybil had been standing near the windows staring out into the storm and now turned to them. "I have an idea, but you light not like it. How about we tell ghost stories?"

Her grandmother made a disapproving sound in the back of her throat that resembled a snort. Isobel regarded her for a moment and then making up her mind, shifted in her chair and said, "Yes, why don't we?"

Catching Matthew's attention as the others murmured in agreement or disapproval, Mary asked, "What about you? Do you believe in ghosts?"

"I'm afraid not, as I am far too practical for that sort of thing." Matthew was attentive to the manner in which she smiled as if she meant it and it was not just an instinctive turn of the lips in response to his similar expression. He could not discern what it was about Mary that drew him like a moth to a flame, singing his wings time and again as she bestowed attention on him and then removed it when other, more interesting prospects entered the house. Tonight, she was different, less certain of herself, more at ease in her surroundings, as if she had other things on her mind than his torment. Much of it was his fault, however, having gotten off on such a bad foot.

Behind them, the door opened and Mrs. Hughes spoke a moment with Mr. Carson before retreating downstairs. It was her favorite time of the evening, after dinner when the kitchens wound down for the night and most of the staff went up to their rooms or sat in their sitting room reading. The maids were about now and again but they too quieted and the mood of the house was one of contentment. It was customary for her to spend an hour in her office going over the schedule and making certain to note when the linens should be rotated. There was not much to be done on this occasion and as she put away her pencils in the drawer, she noticed the magazine she had confiscated from Daisy. Like so many before it, the cover boasted terrifying exploits and near death encounters and for the first time, curiosity got the best of her.

Much later, she glanced at the clock on the far wall and saw it was past ten, time for her customary final rounds. She picked up the lamp and went out into the dark kitchen, the staff having long since retired. It was cumbersome climbing the narrow stairs with her skirt in one hand and the light in the other, its glow bouncing off the walls and casting everything in a sickly hue. Gloom closed around her and she deliberately refrained from looking behind her, reaching the upper hall and feeling that she was being watched. Her head turned and a slight frown crossed her brow, a tingling sensation at the back of her neck causing her to tense as she listened and heard nothing other than rain on the roof. Passing into the main hall, she went through the near rooms, checking to make certain all the windows were closed. She began to notice how ominous the house was at night, how deep the shadows were that lurked beyond the reaches of the lamp, how many corners and crevices there were. Each creak of the floor sounded loud, the rustle of her skirts making her aware that she was not as quiet as she would have liked. Darkness curled around her and teased at her heels, dancing overhead as the light caressed the oil paintings, eyes following her down the expanse of corridor. She kept to the main rooms, the flame wavering in her hand, aware of each soft tread and intake of breath. Following a draft into the east wing, she slowed as she realized it came from the red room.

White sheets moved like ghosts in the breeze, the scent of rain heavy as it spattered the partially open window; Mrs. Hughes hesitated on the threshold, not caring for the sudden memories this room awoke in her, and then went forward, setting down the lamp and latching it securely. Her skin tingled and she did not immediately turn around, knowing it was only a bedstead behind her but not wanting to look. Whether it was her imagination or reality, she sensed movement in the emptiness and her fingers crept toward the lamp. She turned—and found nothing but her own face staring back at her in the dingy mirror above the mantle. Forcing herself to relax, she reasoned that it was merely the storm fraying at her nerves. But as she stepped into the hall and shut the door in her wake she saw true movement, a flutter of fabric and light footsteps that darted away from her into the deeper shadows.

"Hello," she said softly, "is anyone there?"

Silence answered her, the lamp lifting higher as she followed. It seemed to dart ahead of her, constantly staying just out of reach, her senses so unnerved that when she rounded the corner and met Anna she let out a gasp; the maid almost screamed, but clapped her hand over her mouth, staring at her wide-eyed. "Oh, Mrs. Hughes, it's only you," she whispered when she could speak, and the housekeeper regained her composure. "I thought… well, I didn't expect you… what are you doing in the east wing?"

"I was checking the windows, as usual."

Anna was still unnerved but found the older woman's presence comforting in spite of the fact that her heart still beat rapidly in her chest. A flash illuminated the lower corridor and both women jumped. Mrs. Hughes sighed and said, "All this talk of ghosts… between Daisy and all the rest I'm surprised we're not all on edge."

"It's not just Daisy," confessed Anna as she followed her, grateful for her nearness and still clutching her candle. "Lady Mary said something this evening about a maid falling to her death… is it true?" Her eyes snapped to Mrs. Hughes as the housekeeper paused and for a moment she thought it had caught the woman off guard, but then her companion regained her composure. Opening the hall closet so that Anna could store the linens inside, she said, "I rather think Lady Mary has let her imagination run away with her."

Footsteps carried the older woman off into the darkness and Anna retreated to her room. Gwen was already in bed, her knees tucked beneath her chin as she stared at the sheet of paper she had typed for practice. It was her ambition to leave service and she used the late hours to try and learn shorthand and other useful secretarial skills. She looked up as Anna entered and removed her cap, sighing as she pulled out the pins and let down her hair. The candle flame played across the walls, covered in torn out pages from magazines and several framed portraits. As she unbuttoned her dress, Anna said, "I wish Daisy hadn't brought up ghosts. She's even got Mrs. Hughes on edge."

Drawing the curtain across the only small window in the room, Anna stepped out of her dress and hung it up on the door of the wardrobe. "It's not just us, either. Lady Mary mentioned remembering an accident on the servants' stairs… hearing a woman scream… and Mrs. Hughes wouldn't answer me when I asked her about it."

Gwen lost interest in her typewritten page and stared at her as Anna sat on the edge of her bed and tugged off her shoes. "I've always been afraid of those stairs. I couldn't say why, exactly, but they make made me uneasy."

Since it was colder in the room than it should have been, Anna was quick in pulling on her nightgown and climbing into bed; it was not pleasant to thrust her legs into the cold sheets and she rubbed her feet about, trying to warm them up. Now that she thought about it, she also did not much care for that particular flight of stairs either. It was not too bad in daylight but in the evening it became a dark void. Gwen did not notice her silence and mused, "You know the policy of Downton: whatever happens here is not to leave the house. Maybe something did happen and Mrs. Hughes doesn't want to frighten us."

"I'd much rather be frightened than lay here all night thinking about it. I'll ask O'Brien. She's been here since Lady Mary was a child. She'd remember if anything of that sort happened. Blow out the candle, would you? I'm tired." Anna snuggled in, plumping her pillow with a bit more vigor than usual, and shut her eyes.

There was a pause and the sound of rifling papers as Gwen put her things away; darkness descended, filling the room and settling comfortably into its cracks and corners. Anna's eyes flew open and adjusted gradually until she could make out the contours of what little furniture was in their space. She realized how tense she was and forced herself to relax, burrowing up against the wall and pulling the covers over her head.

One by one the lamps and candles went out, shadows lengthening as the rain lulled the occupants to sleep. Mary had no trouble nodding off, a smile on her lips as she thought of the evening's conversation. It was a pleasant sort of dream, sunlight filling the rooms at Downton as she carried a book about the house; but as she pushed open the door to the servants' quarters, the light faded into a dismal tone of gray and she was a child again. Hearing soft words, she peered around the corner at Mrs. Hughes and the young woman standing at the head of the stairs. She could not hear much of their conversation but as thunder rumbled in the distance, there was a terrible scream. The resulting thud was a sound Mary would never forget, for it was even more horrific than the strangled gasp Pamuk had given in the midst of his heart attack. She ran forward, Mrs. Hughes coming to her senses in time to reach out and stop her from seeing the result. "_This is no sight for you, Lady Mary_!"

"_No, I want to see!_" Mary insisted, struggling; she broke free and ran to the head of the stairs, horrified as she saw the maid at the bottom of them, staring upward with a blank, lifeless expression, a pool of blood gathering beneath her head.

Her eyes flew open and in the flash of light that entered the room she saw Pamuk standing over her. There was a presence beside her, a body beside hers under the covers. Mary cried out and nearly fell in her haste to escape, scrambling for the box of matches on her bedside table as another clap of thunder caused the windows to rattle. Her movement propelled whatever it was away from her and as she struck the match, heart pounding, she saw the pale, frightened form of Sybil pressed against the wardrobe. They stared at one another wide-eyed and Mary finally breathed again, grateful for once that the house was so old and spacious that no one had heard them.

"_What are you doing_ in here?"

"I couldn't sleep! I kept thinking about that ghastly haunted lane Isobel told us about!" Sybil moved forward and her pale features entered into the light. "You were asleep; I didn't want to wake you."

Rain drummed against the window and Mary realized she'd forgotten to close the draperies. She yanked them shut, sending her sister a lingering glance of disapproval that relented beneath Sybil's morose expression. Isabel had spun them quite a tale, one that had even gotten to their grandmother, as much as she loathed admit it. Mary could not blame her for not wanting to be alone and said, "Oh, very well. But you'd better not kick me."

"I won't," her sister promised and climbed back into the bed.

Mary put out the light. It couldn't have been Pamuk, she decided; it had been a figment of her imagination. But she could not forget that he had died in this very room, in this very bed, and if he was inclined to haunt any of them, it would be her. Turning on her side and drawing up the sheet, she closed her eyes. It wasn't her fault what had happened to him, she reasoned. Pamuk had insisted on entering her room, even though it was scandalous, and she should have thrown him out but hadn't dared, for the attention it would have brought to her. He would not dare haunt her for something she had not been responsible for. It was comforting to have another presence beside her and dismissing all notions of ghosts from her mind, Mary went to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning when Daisy entered to make up the fire, she was surprised to see two dark heads beneath the covers. Mrs. Hughes had reminded her many times of the importance of quiet efficiency and she was pleased not to wake either of them as she started the blaze and coaxed it into life. Her goal was to remain unseen by all but the staff and as she hurried back in the direction of the lower rooms she met Mr. Bates on the stairs. He smiled at her and she bore the happiness of his approval the length of the house and into the kitchens, where Lord Grantham's dog was consuming the leftovers Mrs. Patmore had thrown into his bowl. She spoiled him almost as much as the Earl did, and liked him just as much.

Mrs. Hughes stepped out of the way of Daisy as she ran past, finding that required less effort than making her slow her process, and continued to Carson's cupboard, where he was measuring the wine into decanters. He barely glanced at her and continued his careful straining, the cheesecloth turning red beneath the steady current. "Good morning, Mrs. Hughes," he said. This was a ritual performed each day between them but for her to shut the door was unusual and nearly always meant there was a matter of some importance to be discussed. It drew his undivided attention as she said quietly, "Anna asked me about Lucy last night."

His hand wavered and a few drops landed on the desk. Carson fought to keep his countenance unchanged. "How would she know about that?"

"Lady Mary remembers more than we gave her credit for and all this talk of ghosts has brought it up again."

Sighing, Carson shook his head as he remembered the incident and all that had come before it. "Well, do what you can to stop it. There is no sense in revisiting the past." He continued in his task as the housekeeper left. She stepped out of the way of O'Brien on the stairs, carrying the mending she had finished for her ladyship. It was still raining as she passed down the hall, noticing Sybil leaving her sister's room and sleepily returning to her own. The servant knocked before entering Cora's room and her employer stirred, turning from the window and welcoming her with a smile. Placing the garment in its proper place, O'Brien inquired, "Shall I bring you up a tray, my lady?"

"No, thank you, I think this morning I will breakfast with the others."

O'Brien went to the wardrobe and removed several gowns for inspection, handling the rich fabric and admiring them as she laid them out on the bed. All her ladyship's clothing was immaculate, thanks to O'Brien's steady hand in repairing anything that needed it. Her tiny stitches went unnoticed and had it not been for her limited means starting out, she might have been a seamstress. Dressing the lady of the house was a tedious business and she half listened to Cora's remarks as she went about it, helping her into the proper undergarments and buttoning her into the gown she had chosen. Then she went to work on the long dark hair that curled so easily about her fingertips. The brush moved downward gracefully, the soft sound filling the silence. Rain beat against the near window and the room had an odd grayish hue that did neither of them any favors. Cora rearranged the items on the vanity in front of her, pleased to be in the woman's presence. O'Brien was the only one who had ever made her feel entirely at ease, who seemed loyal and true in spite of their social differences. She was a servant, but was almost a friend.

Piercing blue eyes shot upward and Cora said, "I hope my wish to move the armoire did not distress Carson too much. I did not mean to cause a commotion!"

Looking into the sitting room at the armoire, O'Brien said nothing. It was not her place to answer and she did not, finishing the last of the pins and stepping back to admire her handiwork. Cora tucked a curl behind her ear and thanked her with a smile, her skirts rustling as she went downstairs. Tidying up the room and making certain the door to the wardrobe was shut, O'Brien went back to the kitchens, knowing she would be rung for if needed. It was customary for her to sit in the downstairs dining room and work on her sewing. She was left alone except when Thomas invited her into the courtyard for a smoke, but dissuaded by the downpour, she stayed in while he went out into the cold to stand beneath one of the eaves.

Soon, Branson entered shaking the water off his coat and sat at the far end to get warm at the stove. O'Brien said nothing to him and barely looked up as Anna appeared. There was no love lost between them and normally they ignored one another as much as possible. Though she found the idea of having to ask O'Brien anything distasteful, Anna was too interested in solving the mystery to heed her own good judgment. She was ignored until she put her hand on the stitching in front of the maid and asked, "You've been here near as long as her ladyship, haven't you?"

"Yes, though what's it to you?"

Familiar footsteps came down the hall, uneven with a click of a stick: Bates, returning from his duties upstairs. Having secured the woman's attention, Anna sat back and asked, "Do you remember any sort of … incident when Lady Mary was a child? It had something to do with the back stairs."

"The back stairs?" repeated O'Brien with disbelief, drawing the gaze of the chauffeur. "What has anything to do with them?"

Leaning heavily on his stick, Bates appeared in the doorway and Anna shook her head, not wanting to continue in the presence of the others. "Nothing, I was just curious. The kitchen maids and their superstitions, that's all."

"What, now the back stairs are haunted?" O'Brien could not contain her scorn as Bates limped into the room. "I think you're all going soft in the head."

At the far end of the table, Branson said, "Oh, come now, a great old country house without ghosts? Wouldn't be a proper house at all, now, would it?" He nudged the nearest chair out from the table with his foot as an invitation to Bates and the older man sank into it without a word, glancing at Anna as he did so. She flushed a little under his attention, not caring for the notion that he might think her foolish for having such thoughts.

The lid of O'Brien's sewing box snapped shut. "It's proper enough for the likes of us. No one invited _you_."

Shifting in his seat, a dangerous gleam entered Branson's eye, annoyance surfacing as he said, "No one wants the lowly _Irish_ about but we've got more common sense than the lot of you! We know not to distrust things like ghosts and superstition."

O'Brien lifted her brow. "Round here, the only ones preoccupied with such nonsense are silly kitchen maids."

In came Daisy bearing a fruit bowl to put back on the shelf but at the tension in the room she halted. Her eyes darted from one face to another as Anna stood up, her slender form outlined against the dowdy walls. There was a spark in her the others did not often see of more than anger as she said, in short, clipped words, "You think you are so much _higher_ than the rest of us, don't you? Because you're her ladyship's maid! Well, I've had about enough of you and your high and mighty opinions! Her ladyship doesn't think any more of you than Lady Mary thinks of me, so you're no better than the rest of us!"

A shocked silence descended, for Anna had never raised her voice before but it carried such force that it drifted past Daisy into the hall. Mrs. Patmore peered out of the kitchen and William, who was lurking nearby, darted back into the larder. The back door opened and brought Thomas in shivering, the scent of smoke lingering on him. Observing the iciness in their faces, he asked, "What are you lot on about?"

"Nothing that should concern you, Thomas," Anna said as she shoved back her chair and fled into the hall. Daisy moved rapidly out of her way, arms wrapped tightly around the bowl and mouth slightly agape, unaccustomed to such emotions. The click of her retreating heel had an unusual amount of force in it as Anna nearly collided with Mrs. Hughes, squeezing past her and vanishing around the corner. The housekeeper had missed all but the sound of raised voices and now found them staring at one another, even O'Brien silenced.

Lingering in the doorway and not caring to ask what had happened, Mrs. Hughes said, "Haven't you somewhere to be, Branson?"

They scattered, Bates going in search of Anna. He found her in the alcove beside the stairs, folding and refolding a sheet from the laundry as she could not get it right with shaking hands. Anna did not know what had come over her; perhaps she had gotten tired of O'Brien's condescending glances, her nasty remarks about Bates and how ill-suited they were for one another. For some reason she had not handled it with her usual grace. It was easy to know the click of his stick as he approached but she did not turn and face him, not wanting him to see the flush lingering in her cheeks. Frantic fingers continued in her useless task until he placed his hand on hers and she stopped, her heart skipping a beat at the warmth of his nearness.

Bates took the sheet from her and returned it to the basket. "What is the matter?" he asked.

Staring at the floor, she did not answer him.

He continued to look at her, admiring the length of her lashes. "This isn't about O'Brien, is it?"

"I don't know, it's just… a mood I'm in. There's so much nonsense just now, with Daisy and her talk of ghosts, with Lady Mary and her unease about the back stairs, and the storm isn't helping." Feeling as if she could happily drown in his dark and gentle gaze, she said, "It's foolish of me, I know."

"It isn't foolish, not to share what you're thinking." Bates wanted to reach out and comfort her but did not, curling his fingers tighter around his walking stick. "A storm can bring out the worst in all of us."

This was a noble attempt to make her feel better and she appreciated it, smiling at him as Mrs. Hughes appeared in the doorway. "Anna, someone is ringing for you in the library."

Once the young woman had gone, Mrs. Hughes debated speaking her mind with Bates. Romantic attachments between the staff were dissuaded but she had not seen him this happy since his arrival, when he had entered their lives full of pride and humility only to discover all of them were set against him. Bates met her gaze and much passed between them in silence before she decided it was none of her business and returned to her office. Locked in the drawer was the magazine she had taken from Daisy's room and intending to put it in the stove, she tossed it onto the nearest footstool.

All morning it was there and Daisy chanced to pass by and see it; every muscle in her body tensed and her eyes widened as she spun around and retreated. It was there as the afternoon wore on and Mrs. Hughes was about her rounds. Thomas saw it on his way upstairs and considered stealing it but Carson calling for him changed his mind. And it was there after supper when Mrs. Hughes went over the ledger. Distant thunder rumbled but the house was quiet apart from the odd passing of a servant. On nights such as this the family tended to be restless and there would be another hour or more of fetching warm glasses of milk before they would settle. So intent was she on her task that she did not notice Carson until he touched her shoulder and then she jumped. It was unlike her and as she regained her composure, his attention fell on the offending piece of literature.

"So that is the cause, is it, of all the confusion downstairs?" He picked it up and flipped through it, his brow lifting at the terrifying illustrations of murder and mayhem, hacked up bodies, ghostly forms in dark lanes, and gnarled fingers grasping at open doorways. "They didn't have this nonsense in our time, did they, Mrs. Hughes?"

"No, in our time it was Bram Stoker and Jack the Ripper, one very much an author of imaginary horrors and the other more real than any of these stories." Remembering the shocking details that had filled the London papers for months, she shuddered. In that light, the sensational contents of the penny publication was distasteful indeed. It had been nearly thirty years and the many had forgotten but those who had lived through it had not. The gloom beyond the open door was troubling to her and she got up to shut it, her hand on the knob as she said thoughtfully, "I never have understood why we seek to amuse ourselves with the very worst mankind has to offer, what pleasure we can find in stories of human cruelty and vengeful spirits awakening to torment the living."

Carson had spent much of the day on his feet and took a seat, finding that the concerns of running a household eased in her presence. He would never have admitted it to anyone but the evenings he shared with her were some of his happiest moments at Downton. No one else in the house was his equal and none received as much respect, although it continually surprised him how he could change her mood with a sudden word or voiced concern. He was certain it meant nothing and was careful not to take her for granted. Perhaps it was the darkness that invited such confidences, lessening their defenses and permitting them to be more comfortable with one another. It was different in the house at night. "I suppose it shows something darker in us, our awareness of evil and our fear of it," he said. "It has been my experience that those who have seen it firsthand are less inclined to trivialize it. We seek to protect those under our influence from the dangers of life outside Downton. Here, we can control it to an extent and guard them against it. Well, other than from Thomas, of course."

This prompted her to smile but it faded as she came to join him, her skirts rustling against the floor. "We cannot protect them all," she reminded him. It was this that concerned her about Anna and Bates, for as much as she had come to like the valet, she could not help thinking there was more to him than he had shared with them. He was a man of secrets and not inclined to bring others into his confidence and Anna was inexperienced and a good deal more innocent than she seemed.

"Ah, but what happened to Lucy was not what _we_ let into the house, but rather what she brought into it. It was her decision, not ours."

Much sobered, each of them considered the other and she shook her head. "Sometimes I wonder if we are right in our interferences, Mr. Carson."

"In that one, we were."

Her gaze lowered to her hands and in the silence that followed, Carson asked, "Did you read it?"

A flush entered her cheeks and her eyes darted upward once more, meeting his with a certain amount of shame. "I'm afraid my curiosity got the best of me."

"Why, Mrs. Hughes, you surprise me."

Folding her hands in her lap, she answered, "It's good to know I still can after all these years."

It caught him off guard as he realized that he had spent more time with Mrs. Hughes than without her. This struck him with more emotion than he anticipated. He wanted to speak but the words would not come to him, for he found it difficult to share his feelings. She had not meant it to sound as it did but since he did not dismiss it, felt comforted in his silence. Neither of them spoke but both were disappointed when there was a knock at the door. Bates stuck his head in and said, "Begging your pardon, Mrs. Hughes, but Thomas wanted to speak with Carson if he had a moment."

Their hearts sank and Carson said, "Thank you, Mr. Bates," before rising from his chair. She followed in rapid succession and he picked up the magazine, offering it to her. Aware of his nearness, that he towered over her and she did not at all mind, Mrs. Hughes said, "You may put it on the fire, with my blessing."

Bates climbed the stairs, bearing in one hand the glass of warm milk Lord Grantham had requested. It was a fair distance on a bad leg but he managed without spilling any of it, pausing to glance down them as he thought he had seen movement out of the corner of his eye. Once satisfied it had been his imagination, he continued into the warm lamplight of Sir Robert's room and found him sitting up in a chair with a book. Even in his military days, Robert had been fond of reading. Sliding a marker into the volume and putting it aside, he accepted the glass graciously and said, "I don't mind saying that I hope this weather lifts tomorrow. It'll be a dismal hunt otherwise."

"Then the others _will _still arrive in the morning, sir?"

"One thing is certain in the country, Bates: the hunt. Put out my tweeds and we'll hope for the best."

As the man went about it, Robert wandered to the door into the sitting room he shared with his wife and stared at the armoire. "So that's the monstrous beast, is it? I'm rather sorry I wasn't here to see them move it, as it must have been quite a chore." He entered the gloom of the darkened room and touched the side of it, finding it firm and heavy beneath his fingertips. The wood was old but not much marred and he looked inside with keen interest.

Bates was rummaging around in the wardrobe. "I believe it took both Thomas and William to move it, sir."

"And I daresay Carson following along behind, barking out orders. You know, I really can't see what Cora finds so damned impressive about it. Oh, it's suitable enough but not worth the effort of moving. Still, she must be tired of all the rooms staying the same. It's her American blood, but I must admit it is one of the things I like most about her." Robert tucked his hands into his house coat's pockets and stared at it, tilting his head as he examined the ornate carving up the front doors. "It started a ruckus, though… the girls are all on about ghosts, but then it _is _the time of year for it. Do you believe in them, Bates?"

"If I did, sir, Downton would be the best place for them."

Returning to the lamplight of the inner room, the earl nodded. "Indeed, though I daresay our ghosts would linger on the battlefield." It was a sobering thought and drew his attention out the window, remembering the horrors of war. He'd seen men die around him, his best friend take a bullet in the head, and while the many responsibilities of managing an old estate were tedious, he never resented them. In the world beyond Downton was blood, pain, and death, three things he had tried to protect his family from, with some success. He stared out into the rain as Bates withdrew, closing the door softly behind him. The grandfather clock in the lower hall chimed the hour as he made his way to the attics, looking forward to the comforts of bed. Mary heard him pass and thought nothing of it as she tried to read but her mind kept wandering, her eyes lifting to explore the shadows of the room. She had an uneasy feeling that would not be shaken. Her mind had constantly returned to Pamuk but mingled with it was her attempt to remember more of what had happened that day on the stairs, a memory buried so deep that she had to dig to get at it and the more she scratched at the surface, the muddier her recollection became. She thought about all the people who had died in this very house, possibly some of them in her very room, and where ordinarily the idea would not have much concerned her, tonight it bore sinister overtones.

_Safe_.

That was what Downton had always been for her… safe, secure, comforting. She did not like the mood that had descended over it, a fear that crept into every corner of the house and had begun with Daisy in the red room. Mary did not like not being able to remember and wished the memory had never surfaced at all but once awakened, it could not be put aside. There was no sense in trying to read so with a last glance about the room she put her book away and turned out the light. The softness of the pillow settled around her and it did not take her long to sleep, where once again she wandered the halls of Downton with no purpose other than curiosity, passing through each room in search of answers to questions that lingered just beyond her reach. Into the midst of it came the truth, a familiar corridor appearing as her pace diminished, hesitance apparent as she pushed open the door separating it from the rest of the house. Again she stood in the sunlit passage and the sound of voices trailed toward her, but this time she heard more of the conversation.

"_It can't go on like this_," said Mrs. Hughes, her voice muffled as she tried to keep it low.

Mary inched nearer and peered around the corner, finding her and the maid at the top of the stairs. The girl was young and dressed in black, her dark hair drawn back from a face partially turned away from Mary. "_You don't understand, Mrs. Hughes_," she whispered.

"_I understand all too well. But it isn't true, whatever he may tell you. Love is not unkind."_

"_No, you are wrong… I told you what happened, and that is all. I shall go on as before_."

The young woman's hands tightened against her flowing skirts and Mary felt an ache in her stomach.

"_Then there is no hope for you, Lucy, as you are more foolish than I took you for_!"

It happened.

Mary did not know _how_ it happened, only that it did—one moment Lucy was on the landing and the next she fell down the stairs with a horrific scream, the sound of her slender body crumpling down them ending in an awful silence. Mary inched away before she was seen and turned to find the girl standing behind her. Blood coated the side of her face and dripped into her starched white collar, bruises forming against her pale cheek. Mary drew in her breath and felt cold, almost frightened in spite of no longer being a child. There was something sad and ominous in the ghost's face as they regarded one another.

"_Do you really not know me?_" asked Lucy. "_I came to you _because_ you would remember. We had such fun together, when your mother would let me look after you_."

Backing away from her, Mary shook her head. "_I don't remember_."

"_Yes you do. You remember all of it, more than you think. You were there that day, weren't you, in the red room?_" Lucy continued to follow her as she backed down the corridor, her breath quickening as her heart raced. "_You were such a curious child, so interested in everything that was none of your affair._"

She had run out of floor; her back came to rest against the frosted glass door and she scrambled for the knob.

"_It isn't the house we've come to haunt, Mary_," said Lucy piteously, her blue eyes gleaming beneath the blood that continued to run down her cheek. "_It's you_!"

A hand slammed into the glass on the other side and behind it Mary saw the dark, cold, dead eyes of Pamuk. She screamed and awoke to a clap of thunder, the sound rumbling across the heavens and drowning out all but the frantic gasping of her breath. No one heard her and morning had nearly come, a faint blue hue in the east that she could see beyond the windows. Mary tried to light a lamp but her hands shook too much and she was forced to put the box of matches down. The room was gloomy and her eyes adjusted, each shadow seeming to hold an unknown threat. Her garments were damp from sweat and she shivered as she got up, drawing a dressing gown about her and going to the window. She opened it out into the night air and took in a deep breath, watching as a dark figure crossed the patch of grass beneath her. Branson was heading for the kitchens, where Mrs. Patmore was no doubt heating the range; the rest of the downstairs staff would be up soon. It gave her a small amount of comfort and she leaned her head against the sill, trying to calm her thoughts. The rain was in retreat, the storm moving further into the south, but the scent of it was still on the air.

No one else was up in the family quarters as she walked through them, gloom surrounding her as she pushed through the door that separated them from the east wing. The dim pre-dawn light cast all into an odd hue, chasing away the details of the paintings on the walls as she followed her instinct to the red room. It had been named after reading _Jane Eyre_ for the room where poor Jane had been locked in with the ghost of her deceased uncle. Mary had always had a romantic notion about that room and enjoyed scaring her sisters with it. It was no different except for the noticeable absence of the armoire against the wall. As girls, they had played in there, climbing in and out of it, hiding under the bed, tossing aside the sheets and forcing the maids to put them back up at the end of the day. Edith had once been shut in the wardrobe and cried for ten minutes before Mary had discovered her and let her back out. The room felt empty without it, Mary having a tingling feeling in her spine as she stood and looked around her, trying to discern what bothered her so much.

_You were there that day, weren't you, in the red room?_

What was it she was supposed to remember?

Her hand trailed over the mantle and she looked into the mirror. There were lots of good memories attached to this room… but then they had all stopped coming there. She hadn't liked it after awhile and didn't know why. Mary did not want to speak, fearing that might summon the ghosts once more, but she had to know and asked, in a voice wavering with fear, "What do I not remember?"

Nothing answered her, silence seeping into the floorboards and the ornamental carpet. She went to the window seat and sat down in it, comforted by the light threading across the horizon. Drawing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, she stared around her, casting into the dusty corners of her mind in search for the truth.

And then she remembered.


	4. Chapter 4

Mrs. Patmore was the first up each morning and always woke the kitchen staff. Most grumbled under their breath and kicked off the covers with reluctance but a few turned over and buried their head under the pillow. It was a thankless job with long hours and constant footwork. She was accustomed to it and did not complain as she traipsed downstairs, knowing within a half hour that Mrs. Hughes and Carson and the rest would be up and about, having done more before the Crawley family woke than the upstairs lot would do all day. As she set about starting a fire in the range and searching for her favorite kettle, she glanced up as Daisy entered, rubbing sleep from her eyes. "You're a sore sight," said the cook disapprovingly, "were you up late again, Daisy?"

"Not on purpose! I couldn't sleep!"

For once the older woman did not chastise her, shaking her head as she got the fire going and noted the charred remains of a sensational magazine in the ashes. So Mrs. Hughes had burned another one, had she? "I don't know why you read those dreadful things," she said as Daisy dumped the lot into the trash bin. "Full of murder and gore, you ought not to be filling your head with it! I've a good mind to give Thomas a tongue-lashing for giving it to you!"

"Oh, don't, he didn't mean no harm by it!"

The cook snorted loudly. "No harm! Indeed, I'm sure he did not."

Soon the rest of the girls appeared and set about their work, hiding massive yawns behind curled fingers. Their soft tread had awoken Mrs. Hughes and upstairs she prepared for the day, buttoning up her collar and hooking her key ring to her belt. Smoothing down any defiant strands of hair, she opened her door and was shocked to find Lady Mary standing outside it. Her pale features were more grim than usual and she looked as if she would rather be anywhere else. They stared at one another for a moment and then Mrs. Hughes asked, "May I be of service, Lady Mary?"

Courage was difficult in such an hour but somehow Mary found it, her tone lacking its usual life as she said, "You can answer some questions for me. May I?" She indicated the small room and Mrs. Hughes could hardly deny her, stepping aside as the young woman entered. Her eyes wandered, unsurprised that Mrs. Hughes refrained from the usual dressings that accompanied a personal space; there were no photographs or clippings on the walls, only a small watercolor painting. It was cold and she rubbed her arms, her voice quiet as she said, "Please shut the door."

Mrs. Hughes did as she was told as Mary stared out the window toward the stables. She now did not know what to say and an awkward silence lingered between them. It grew louder the longer it went on and Mrs. Hughes soon rescued her. "You want to know about Lucy," she surmised, a note of resignation in her voice.

Groping for the nearest chair, Mary asked, "How did you know?"

"Anna said something about it." Mrs. Hughes picked up the chair and moved it into the center of the room for her, Mary settling on it with dread mingled with curiosity. Outside, a few early birds began to sing, muffled through the closed window. It was customary for Mrs. Hughes to wake the maids but she could hear them stirring on their own. "How much do you remember? You were very young at the time."

"Not much, just… the incident on the stairs and… what happened in the red room."

Mrs. Hughes had hoped she would not remember that and moved away from the door. It was an unpleasant memory for both of them. Mary remembered clearly that she had hidden under the bed that afternoon to get away from Edith. It was a large old bedstead with a fairly wide space underneath, enough for her to lay on her stomach in comfort and turn through the pages of her picture book. She had been undisturbed until voices had come along the corridor and the door had opened, admitting a pair of boots as Lucy had darted into the room.

"I've told you, Fred, you can't be here! If Mrs. Hughes finds you, she'll skin you alive!"

"What does Mrs. Hughes matter? I don't want you here, the others filling your head with grand ideas. I want you to come back with me to the farm."

Mary had not moved, knowing she was not supposed to be there, watching the two sets of feet.

Crossing to the window, Lucy said, "I like it here. They are kind to me. You don't know them!"

"I know that ever since you've been here, you've been different!"

There was a forced laugh and the maid shifted uneasily. "I'm the same as I always was, just a proper maid now. I can't leave, Lady Grantham wouldn't like it. And I can't afford not to work! It may as well be here as anywhere!"

He walked away from her, but not with the intention of leaving. The door swung shut and Mary felt tension fill the room as he said, "It's _him_ isn't it? He's the reason you don't want to leave. You've thrown me over for him."

"What are you talking about?"

The pair of shoes came nearer. "The stable boy, I've seen how you look at him."

Stunned silence and then, "I don't look at him in any particular way!"

"_Don't lie to me_!" he shouted.

Under the bed, Mary flinched and tried to be as small as possible. Lucy had fallen silent.

Gathering his composure, he said with forced calmness, "I want you to be my wife, Lucy. I can't have any lies."

"But I'm not lying! I don't love anyone but you, Freddie!"

All Mary saw was a pair of shoes crossing the room toward the maid but she heard a cry as he slammed Lucy against the armoire, causing it to shake as the hinges squealed. He snarled something she did not hear and then backhanded her, sending her crashing to the floor. The first thing Lucy saw was Mary under the bed and they stared at one another in horror. Behind them, the door opened and Mary was shocked how fast Carson crossed the room. The wall reverberated as he slammed Freddie against it. The younger man was no match for him and could not retaliate, only protest at the top of his lungs. Mrs. Hughes appeared in the doorway, aghast.

Lucy scrambled to her feet. "Please don't hurt him, Mr. Carson!"

"I won't, but I _will_ have the pleasure of throwing him out of Downton!"

Hand firmly gripping the man's collar, Carson hauled him out of the room and Lucy ran after them. Mrs. Hughes would have gone as well had not she seen a familiar teddy bear peering out from under the edge of the bed. Heart sinking, she approached and knelt on the floor to look under it, finding Mary wide-eyed and small, lurking in the darkness. Her eyes closed for a moment and with a steady, compassionate voice she said, "It's all right now, you can come out, Mary."

For a moment the child could not move and then, finding immense comfort in the woman's presence, she inched forward, reaching for the housekeeper with trembling hands. "The bad man was mean to Lucy," she said.

Picking up the teddy bear and keeping the little girl's hand in hers, Mrs. Hughes said, "Yes, but he's gone now, and he'll never come back. Carson will see to that."

It was evident how much Mary adored Carson. She still did and remembering what he had done brought a little color back into her face as she sat in the solitary room upstairs. Mrs. Hughes moved nearer and said, "You were not all right, but you became more so in time."

Birds continued to whistle in the gardens as light crept toward them, infiltrating all the corners and corridors of the great old house. Mary said, "I never saw him again."

"No, though that was in part owing to your father, who said if the man ever returned, he'd see him shot."

Her brow furrowed as she tried to remember the rest, but all she could muster was her father's indignation in the drawing room when he learned what had happened. Mary said, "But she fell down the stairs, didn't she?"

"She did. Lucy was forgiving. It was never entirely his fault, not in her mind. It never is, you see, not with men of that sort and the girls they prey on. They never choose the courageous ones; they always pick the sweetest and most innocent, knowing they will never fight back. Months later, she told me she intended to marry him and quit the service. I told her it was foolish, that he would kill her one day, but she refused to listen to me. She had gone into town and he'd nearly broken her wrist. She said it was an accident and she had twisted it getting off the train, but there were a lot of 'accidents' and I had never known her to be clumsy. I'm not sure how it happened, if she caught the hem of her skirt with her foot or if her hand would not hold her up, but as she turned to go back down to the kitchens, she fell. I reached for her but was too late."

Both sat in sober contemplation and shivering slightly, as she was still only in her dressing gown, Mary asked, "Whatever happened to him, do you know?"

There was something child-like in her as she said it and Mrs. Hughes knew what she meant, that remembrance had restored fear. While she had never particularly cared for Mary, now she had some compassion toward her. It gave Mrs. Hughes no pleasure to say it but there was a certain amount of justice in her tone as she said, "I do indeed and you may rest assured that he will never lift a hand to a woman again. Carson and I forbid Lucy from ever seeing him again if she wanted to remain at Downton. It was not our right but we did it regardless. That was partly the cause of our argument that day. Later, we learned she was not the only woman he had been severe with and they found him in a ditch with his head bashed in. No one knows who did it, probably an enraged brother or father. Though it was highly ungodly of me, I could not say that I was sorry to hear of it."

"One might say he almost deserved it."

Mrs. Hughes answered cryptically, "That is not for us to say, although we always do. If that is all…"

Reminded of where she was and that her presence was an intrusion, Mary swiftly rose to her feet. The older woman reached for the door and hesitated, turning back to her. "Your father asked us not to speak of it again," she said. "It would be appreciated if you told no one. It happened so long ago it seems a shame to bring it up now."

Some things were worth repeating and others were too dreadful. Mary assured her of her silence and went back to her room. Knowing the truth was a comfort to her but she could not help feeling sad as she thought of how many lives had been changed that day. She was unusually quiet as Anna helped her dress and set about fixing her hair, teasing it into the style that Mary preferred. Presently, the door behind her opened to admit Sybil. Crossing the room and throwing open the doors of the wardrobe, she said, "I can't seem to find my purple coat and I wondered if it was put in here by mistake."

"I doubt it. Maybe Edith has it."

One of Mary's dresses caught Sybil's eye and she pulled it out, holding it up as she stared into the looking glass. "No, I've already looked through her room. What do you think, does this gown suit me?"

"It might if you were as tall as I am." Mary arose gracefully from the vanity and taking the dress out of her sister's hands, hung it back up. "I thought you were interested in a coat. Purple is hardly suitable. Are you not going out with them on the hunt, then?"

Flopping onto the bed, Sybil shook her head. "I have no interest in watching them shoot birds, no. I thought I might walk into town and post a letter. What about you? Are you going out with them?"

Where once the idea would have had merit merely as an excuse to spend time with some of the most eligible bachelors in the county, today Mary had other things on her mind. She examined her reflection in the mirror and liked what she saw. "I'm not in the mood. I might walk into town with you, if you don't mind. I would like some fresh air. Didn't you send that coat downstairs with Gwen for it to be mended?"

"That's right! Anna, would you…?"

"Certainly, my lady," said Anna and left the room quietly, stepping out his lordship's way as he entered his wife's chambers. He found her in the sitting room, a vision in her white dressing gown, hair loose against her shoulders. Lace dripped from her sleeves as she came to him and asked, "Robert, do you think it is too much for this room?"

He looked at the armoire. "Don't you like it now that poor Carson has gone to all the trouble of moving it?"

"Oh, not you too!" she said in mock dismay as she leaned her head against his shoulder. "Your mother has already made that point. Need I remind you that Carson didn't have to lift a finger? It was all William and Thomas."

"Ah, but Carson had to hasten along behind them worrying about everything that might be broken on the way. Surely his concerns were not to be in vain!" Robert opened the drapery further and the light hit the armoire, revealing its beautiful handiwork. It was quite a handsome piece of furniture. He was newly impressed with it and behind him Cora sat down on the edge of the divan and rested her hands in her lap, considering it at length.

"I don't know, Robert, something about it feels _wrong_."

"Well, if you really don't like it, they can move it back, but you'll have to contend with Mother's I-told-you-so."

There was a knock on the door and Mary stuck her head inside. "Matthew and Isobel have arrived," she said.

Her father went down dutifully and her mother retreated into her bedroom. Mary hesitated, her focus lingering on the armoire. Quiet footsteps bore her toward it and she reached out and touched the door, her fingers sliding into the niches as she remembered the terrible sound Lucy had made slamming into it. But as her fingers drifted to the door handle, she had other memories, stronger ones of laughter and amusement, Edith chasing her down the hall and both of them climbing inside to get away from Mrs. Hughes. Opening the door, she remembered crouching there and stifling Edith's laughter with her hand as the housekeeper continued past, unaware of their presence. The light drew her attention to a ribbon wedged in the corner, crumpled from years of neglect. She recognized it as one of hers she turned it over in her slender hands. Slipping it into her pocket, she went downstairs.

Matthew was waiting for her in the drawing room and was disappointed to learn she would not go with them. His bright countenance wavered and she saw a bit of a child in him that soon found comfort in the midst of it, as he added, "Well, at least you won't see me make a fool of myself. I'm dreadful at this sort of thing."

"You would not be the first earl of Grantham to be a bad shot, although you _are_ the first to admit it," she laughed.

They smiled at one another and presently she said, "Perhaps I should go with you after all, for moral support."

"I should like that," he answered.

It was always a ceremonious event when the men left for the bird hunt, a gathering of all in the front yard along with their dogs and tweed jackets. Some of the women intended to follow along behind them and arrive at the picnic grounds ahead of them, once they had seen enough shooting for the day. The scent of rain lingered in the air but the storm had retreated and there was a mood of excitement among them. Lined up with the rest of the servants, Daisy craned her neck to watch them go. Branson shared a long look with Sybil that no one noticed and her heart fluttering, the young woman went indoors. Regarding the retreating lot with mild envy, O'Brien said, "I wouldn't mind going out with them, if it were my place, as it would get me out of the house."

Black skirts rippled in the wind as they walked around to the side door. Thomas asked, "Ghosts getting to you?"

"It's more than that, but what I heard this morning. Lady Mary came upstairs and had a word with Mrs. Hughes."

Trailing along behind them, Daisy's eyes got wide. Matching pace with her, Gwen also overheard.

"I don't suppose I should ask what you were doin' there," said Thomas.

"Well, I can't help it if I forgot my sewing box, now can I? Do you want to hear it or not?"

He shrugged.

"If the house _is_ haunted, it's for good reason. I knew Downton was not entirely free of scandal. It seems a maid died from a fall down the back stairs and cracked her head open like a walnut. It happened before you or I came, but not much before. I always thought it was odd, the way I was brought on so sudden-like."

O'Brien pushed the door open and went inside with Thomas on her heels. Left a fair distance behind them since the conversation had made her stop in her heels, Daisy did not bother to try and catch up. Her face stricken, she paused until from the kitchens, Mrs. Patmore roared, "DAISY!"

When the girl appeared in the doorway, she asked, "What are you on about now, girl, gallivanting at the back door when there's luncheon to be made?"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Patmore! I was just preoccupied with the stairs." Daisy hadn't meant to say it and her eyes widened as she very nearly clapped her hands over her mouth. The other kitchen maids were scurrying around and paid them no mind, but her hands in the sink, the older woman asked, "What about them?"

"Only that… well…" She faltered and flour sifted through her fingers onto the floor.

Shaking the water from her hands, Mrs. Patmore said, "You're not on about ghosts again, are you?"

"But I didn't know about the girl that fell down the back stairs!"

The firm stirring of the pot on the stove faltered and Mrs. Patmore looked at her. "Who told you that?"

Shrinking slightly, the maid whispered, "O'Brien."

"And you think that's your ghost, do you, the girl who fell down the back stairs?"

Though most of them tried not to look too interested, it was obvious everyone within earshot was listening. Daisy didn't know whether to nod or change the subject and in the meantime turned bright pink. Mrs. Patmore leaned back on her heels with more than her customary amount of self-importance and said, "She isn't your ghost, Daisy. Her name was Lucy Simmons and she was a ladies' maid for her ladyship. She fell down those stairs sure enough but she isn't dead. Fallin' down those stairs won't kill you, not unless you're carryin' somethin' sharp. Oh, she hurt herself, right enough, but she was here another six months before she left the service."

"Why didn't you say anythin'?" Daisy asked when she found her voice again.

"It was years ago and I haven't thought of it since! Now stop gawkin' and finish those meat pies!" Shaking her head, she returned to the stove. "Ghost, indeed! I don't know where you young people get your ideas."

The front stairs creaked as Carson came down them, leaning over the railing to catch Thomas on his way past. "Her ladyship has a request to make of you and William," he said.

"Oh, let me guess… she wants that lot put back where it was two days ago."

William's face peered out of the breakfast room and his face fell at the affirmation. It did not much please Carson either but he said, "It is not for us to question her ladyship. It would do you well to remember that, Thomas."

"I'll remember it all right," said the footman sourly under his breath as Carson went back up the stairs. He caught O'Brien's eye and she gave him a halfway sympathetic look in her usual manner. "I'll remember it when my back's paining me in the middle of the night and I can't move in my old age, that's when I'll remember it."

On his way past with Sir Robert's dinner coat, Bates said, "Take heart, Thomas, maybe you won't live that long."

The bickering faded into the background as Carson reached the top step and met Mrs. Hughes on her way down. Hearing the complaints wafting up from downstairs, she asked, "What's this about, then?"

"Her ladyship wants the armoire moved back into the east wing."

Mrs. Hughes gave a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness!"

Dark brows shot heavenward and she added, "I know its trouble to move it back and forth but it's done nothing but stir up things best forgotten. Maybe when it's back where it belongs we can all sleep at night and our lives will return to normal."

Sunlight danced through the near windows as beneath them there was a crash, followed by, "DAISY!"

"I don't see why we have to move the bloomin' thing again," complained Thomas on his way up; "why didn't she leave it where it was in the first place? That's the problem with their lot, takin' our labor for granted."

There was a meaningful pause and Mrs. Hughes looked at Carson with mirth in her eyes. He evaded her gaze for a moment and then with as much dignity as possible, said, "I think we are well on our way, Mrs. Hughes."

And when their footsteps had faded away, there was only dust, floating in the sunlight.


End file.
